Born in Beauvais, France in 1927, the creative talents of Hubert de Givenchy were perhaps not unexpected. He descended from a long line of creative minds; his father was an architect and both of his grandfathers worked as designers in the renowned tapestry factories at Gobelins and Beauvais. His own aspirations to become a fashion designer surfaced as early as four-years-old and by the age of seven he was creating confections for his cousins’ dolls.

A visit to the Exposition Internationale in Paris in 1937–where he saw an exhibition of haute couture by Coco Chanel, Jeanne Lanvin and Madame Grès–solidified his determination to enter the fashion trade, despite his mother’s wishes to the contrary. After graduating at age seventeen, a few short months as apprentice notary and law student left him wholly unsatisfied. Givenchy then landed a valued apprenticeship with the couturier Jacques Fath, which was followed by stints at the couture houses of Robert Piguet and Lucien Lelong.

However, it would be Elsa Schiaparelli whose mentorship provided young Givenchy with the opportunity to develop his talents. She handed over the reins designing the collections for her ready-to-wear boutique while she focused on her couture clients.

After four years, and with the financial backing of relatives, 24-year hold Givenchy was ready to spread his own wings. He opened his fashion house in 1952, initially conceptualized not as a maison de la couture, but rather a purveyor of exceptionally fine ready-to-wear and demi-couture. The acclaim surrounding his first collection made him a victim of his own success; the fledgling business could not keep up with demand. The supply chain and labor necessary for him to continue in the vein of ready-to-wear was still in its infancy in Paris; Givenchy then returned to his earliest roots as a couturier.

The following year would see two important influences enter his life. In 1953, he met his idol, the fashion designer Cristóbal Balenciaga, who would become his mentor and life-long friend. As would also the celebrity client whose name would become synonymous with the Givenchy brand for the next four decades…. Audrey Hepburn. The two maintained a profound personal friendship and working relationship, with Givenchy dressing both on and off-screen.

Givenchy’s signature became his love of volume, shape and simplicity. From his mentor, Balenciaga, he developed a reverent regard for construction techniques and discipline in design. His taste was beyond reproach and his elegant manner garnered Givenchy the nickname ‘the Gentleman Couturier.’

Thank you for all of the beauty you brought into the world, Monsieur de Givenchy. You are already missed.

]]>https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2018/06/13/in-memoriam-hubert-de-givenchy/feed/0380935Fancy Dress à Paris!https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2017/10/26/fancy-dress-a-paris/
https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2017/10/26/fancy-dress-a-paris/#respondThu, 26 Oct 2017 19:58:40 +0000http://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/?p=380888Continue reading →]]>While reorganizing a selection of miscellaneous engravings recently, we came across a set of plates depicting wonderfully whimsical fancy dress ensembles. The adoption of masks or other elements of disguise for festivals and celebrations is believed to date back to 1710 in London, when theaters and public gardens threw lavish fetes where anonymity reigned, open to all—regardless of class. Identities obscured, the revelers felt free to dance, flirt and engage in activities that perhaps were not considered befitting their true station. For this reason, these parties drew the ire of moralists, and while the past time of unnamed intrigues fell largely out of fashion by the turn of the 19th century, the public did not lose their enthusiasm for a good round of playing dress up.

The term ‘fancy dress’ is sometimes used interchangeably with the term ‘masquerade’, but the latter has implications of anonymity that former does not. In the United States, we commonly call fancy dress a ‘costume’, but the true definition of the word ‘costume’ simply refers to a set of clothing and may include regional or seasonal forms of dress.

This particular set of plates—which date to around 1910—depicts fancy dress ensembles based on Parisian landmarks, such as The Bastille, or the Bois de Boulogne and are not thought to be part of a larger publication, but rather a unique issue that was meant to be consumed as amusement instead of literal suggestions for the realization of fancy dress togs. The silhouette of the ensembles closely follows the fashions of the era, particularly the wide-brimmed platter hats, which were in vogue for only a handful of years during the early 1910s.

The creator of the plates, Louis Laviny, was a well-known painter and illustrator for Parisian department stores and fashion magazines. Around 1913, Laviny sadly lost his eyesight and his artist friends and colleagues formed a committee that insured his future welfare.

]]>https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2017/10/26/fancy-dress-a-paris/feed/0380888Les Parfums de Rosinehttps://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2017/09/11/les-parfums-de-rosine/
https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2017/09/11/les-parfums-de-rosine/#commentsMon, 11 Sep 2017 16:31:21 +0000http://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/?p=380800Continue reading →]]>After a self-imposed hiatus due to a spectacular year-long renovation (and two moves of our entire collection!), Material Mode is pleased to share one of the special items brought into the collection during our time away.

A few years back, we wrote about two perfumed publicity fans in our collection from Rosine, the perfume and cosmetics company founded by haute couturier, Paul Poiret, in 1911. Our infatuation with Poiret’s groundbreaking endeavors in luxury lifestyle branding has been slaked only slightly by the acquisition of the catalog ‘Les Parfums de Rosine,’ which details Rosine’s offerings during the early 1920s. Principally known for their perfumes, the catalog details more obscure offerings including travel-size products, perfumed sachets, cosmetics including eyeliner and nail polish as well as our favorite: cigarettes perfumed with Rosine scents!

In 2013, the Musée international de la parfumerie (located in the French perfume making epicenter of Grasse) mounted an exhibition on the history of Rosine. The exhibition touted Poiret as the first fashion designer to ally his brand with signature scents. The inspiration for an alliance between fashion and fragrance followed Poiret’s visit to the Weiner Werkstätte’s Viennese interdisciplinary workshops where artists and craftspersons explored the design of textiles, furniture and jewelry alongside other specialties such as metalwork and bookbinding. Upon his return, Poiret gave over several rooms of his mansion on rue Colisée to his experiments in the creation of perfumes; when friends began to inquire if they could purchase his results, the designer took the leap and industrialized his concept.

Rosine’s ‘atelier cartonnage’ where packaging was silkscreened and created by hand.

For Poiret, the success of the product depended equally on three aspects: the scent itself, the name and the packaging/related ephemera, which was created in a dedicated atelier largely staffed by women. No expense was spared in the creation of decorative silkscreened boxes and hand painted bottles. In 1919, Rosine’s operations in the Paris suburbs at 37 Boulevard Verdun were producing 200,000 bottles a month in twenty-three scents. These were destined for department stores and purveyors throughout France and abroad.

Two sizes of Rosine powder in exquisitely decorated boxes.

In 1928, Rosine had a retail store in New York City at 29 W. 37th Street. The following year, Poiret’s business interests were severely impacted by the Stock Market crash and the resulting recession forced the company into bankruptcy by the close of 1929. For eighteen years, however, Rosine scents were the very definition of luxury, predating many of the famed scents such Jicky, Joy and Chanel No. 5. Collectors today clamor after Rosine paraphernalia; noted perfume authority George Stam enthusiastically claims that the Rosine scent Maharadjah changed his life.

Created in 1902, Julius Klinger’s book of design and ornament, La Femme dans la Décoration Moderne, is a graphic celebration of the feminine. The 30 pages of motifs contained within—which all feature women—were intended to be sources of inspiration for practitioners of the industrial arts: decorative painters and ceramicists as well as designers of jewelry, posters, rugs, textiles, stained glass and wallpaper. Klinger was one of the luminary Austrian graphic designers of his era, leaving behind a vast body of work, particularly in the realm of commercial poster design and typography.

Born in 1876 in Dornbach, just outside of Vienna, Klinger studied at the Technologischen Gewerbemuseum. By the age of nineteen, Klinger had found employment as an illustrator for the fashion publication Wiener Mode. There he met—and fell under the tutelage—of fellow employee and future founder of the Wiener Werkstätte, Koloman Moser. In 1896, upon Moser’s recommendation, Klinger moved to Munich where he worked for the publication Meggendorfer Blätter, illustrating in the Vienna Secessionist style and also for the Jugenstil publication Die Jugend, even after he moved to Berlin in 1897.

Klinger’s talents were put to work in Berlin in the advertising world and it was there that he refined his skills as a commercial poster designer, eventually garnering an international reputation for his work in this genre. After WWI, the designer returned to Vienna where he opened a school for the applied arts, educating the subsequent generation of graphic designers, perhaps for the next few decades; biographical information on Klinger is scant. However, Austrian police records notate Klinger’s deportation by the Nazis to Minsk in February of 1942. Some sources state it was there he likely perished the same year, while conflicting sources cite his year of death as 1950.

If any of our Material Mode readers have more information of this prodigiously talented artist, typographer and writer, we would love to hear from you!

Over the last few years, Material Mode has frequently referenced the symbiotic relationship between Parisian couture and American fashion during the first half of the 20th century. US-based ready-to-wear manufacturers looked to Paris to set the mode, which they subsequently mimicked, with riffs and revisions. Inversely, the American dollar was a critical source of income for Parisian haute couture. That wealthy American women formed a formidable segment of their clientele is widely documented. Lesser-known, however, is the important stream of income that came into the maisonsde couture from licensing deals granting US department stores and manufacturers the rights to legitimately copy haute couture models.

Our holdings are ripe with primary sources evidencing this decades-long exchange between the fashion industries of France and America. This case study will focus on just one of the many collections that explicitly document how Parisian designs found their way into the closets of upper and middle-class American women who may have never set foot on French soil.

As early as 1897, Max Meyer, a buyer for the American cloak and suit manufacturer A. Beller & Co., gained entrée (by way of an introduction by Lord & Taylor representatives in Paris) into the Callot Sœurs couture house for the purposes of officially licensing models to be copied by their ready-to-wear operations in the United States. Much later in writings about his life, Meyer states that he believed he was the first representative of American RTW manufacturers to be invited in to the hallowed halls of haute couture. He credited his success at breaking this industry barrier largely to the fact that he spoke fluent French, which seemed to ease the skepticism of his assigned vendeuse. As the collection documents, later many other couture houses welcomed Meyer through their doors, including Chanel just a few short years after the establishment of her brand.

Over the course of his 39 year career as a buyer and executive for A. Beller & Co., Meyer visited Paris 110 times licensing designs from top houses including Chanel, Lanvin, Cheruit, Jenny, Paquin, Premet, Callot Sœurs, Worth, Drecoll, Poiret, Patou and many others. Largely the garments were suits or outerwear, but occasionally dresses, which coordinated with an outerwear garment were included in their collections.

The A. Beller & Co. adaptations of imported models as well as the company’s own original designs were of the highest quality and retailed at high-end department stores. The company’s product was considered the gold standard for American manufacturers, and as executives, Beller and Meyer were widely respected within the industry. Meyer, in particular, was heavily involved with various garment trade worker unions and an activist for worker’s rights and labor reform. Meyer retired from A. Beller & Co. in 1929 two years before the company would shutter its doors amid the Great Depression.

Meyer’s personal involvement with the fashion industries did not end upon his retirement. In 1939, he helped found the Central High School of the Needle Trades to prepare young minds and hands for careers in the fashion industry. The High School would expand to become the Fashion Institute of Technology in 1944, making Meyer one of the founding fathers of our home institution, where he served as the Chairman of the Board of Trustees and Acting President at the time of his death in 1953.

(click on an image to launch gallery slideshow)

]]>https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2016/05/11/couture-copies-in-america-a-case-study/feed/1380722Eleanor Lambert: The Empress of 7th Avenuehttps://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2016/03/02/eleanor-lambert-the-empress-of-7th-avenue/
https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2016/03/02/eleanor-lambert-the-empress-of-7th-avenue/#commentsWed, 02 Mar 2016 16:47:32 +0000http://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/?p=380690Continue reading →]]>Eleanor Lambert, seen here in 1946, at the age of 43.

One of the most seminal figures in the history of American fashion was not, in fact, a designer at all. For more than seven decades, Eleanor Lambert (1903-2003) was American fashion’s greatest champion and advocate, pulling the strings behind the industry’s biggest names and organizations.

Born in 1903 in Crawfordsville, Indiana, Lambert was raised by her mother. Before her birth, her father had abandoned the family—which included four much older siblings—to return to his former career with the Ringling Brothers circus. Always attracted to creative endeavors, Eleanor studied art at both the John Herron Art Institute in Indianapolis and the Chicago Art Institute, all the while earning extra money on the side as a freelance fashion journalist and sketch artist.

An early marriage to a fellow classmate resulted in a move to New York City in 1925. Living in the big city was a dream come true for the plucky 22 year-old Eleanor, who, once in New York, put aside her artistic ambitions in favor of a paying position. She took a job with a public relations firm which specialized in publishing and quickly carved out a niche for herself by bringing in new clients from the art world, eventually representing the likes of Thomas Hart Benton, Isamu Noguchi and Jackson Pollock. In 1929, she helped to establish The Museum of Modern Art and two years later found herself the first Press Director for the Whitney Museum of American Art.

Lambert’s entrée into the world of fashion is a matter of debate depending on which source you consult. Lambert’s biographer, John Tiffany, states that Eleanor received a phone call from fashion designer Annette Simpson in 1932, inquiring after her services as a publicist, while nearly every other source names Lambert’s first fashion client as being Mollie Parnis. The question of which designer was on Lambert’s roster first is really a moot point in light of the fact that she soon became American fashion’s mouthpiece, representing individual designers and organizing the promotion of American fashion at-large. She launched out on her own as Eleanor Lambert, Inc. in 1935 and in 1936 divorced and married her second husband, Seymour Berkson, whom she had met while attending the 1934 Venice Biennale.

The years of WWII were a boon to Lambert’s cause. During the German occupation of Paris, the established fashion system was disrupted; American designers could no longer depend upon Paris as their font of inspiration, and the fashion industry in the United States began to develop a voice of its own. In 1939, Lambert established the New York Dress Institute, the first organization to promote the interests of American fashion. Once anonymous, designers began to emerge from behind the name of the label they worked for to become household names. To foster this atmosphere, Lambert worked in partnership with the cosmetics giant Coty, Inc. to establish the American Fashion Critics Awards in 1941, which recognized the efforts of individual designers. In 1943, she held the first Fashion Press Week, a coordinated showing of American designers en masse for members of the press that became a semi-annual event and still, to this day, serves at the template for New York Fashion Week.

When the New York Dress Institute—which had been headed by Lambert for more than twenty years—dissolved in 1962, she took the opportunity to found the Council of Fashion Designers of America. (The same year, she also was instrumental in the organization of the American Art Dealers Association.) In 1964, she returned to fashion journalism, launching a nationally syndicated weekly column, “She”, which was renamed “Eleanor Lambert” in 1982; the column continued until the time of her death in 2003.

The now legendary, ‘Battle of Versailles’ fashion show, which exhibited the work of top Paris couturiers alongside the best and brightest American designers, was co-organized by Lambert in 1973 as a means to raise funds for the much-needed restoration of the Palace of Versailles.

For her dedication and herculean service to the interests of American fashion, the CFDA honored its founder with a Lifetime Achievement award in 1989, just one of many awards and recognitions Lambert would receive over the years. Lambert continued to work right up until the time of her death; Eleanor Lambert Inc. did not shutter its doors until Lambert turned 99 in 2002.

It has taken us two long years to process this collection, which is incredibly rich in both scope and content, but we are now pleased to announce that the Eleanor Lambert collection is now ready for consultation by researchers. The fifty-six linear foot collection is arranged in six separate series: Columns, Designer files, American Designer Showings, American Fashion Critics Awards (Aka Coty Awards), CFDA, and Miscellaneous which holds records pertaining to Lambert’s decades-long involvement with the Costume Institute at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, dating back to its inception in 1937. In 1947, Lambert created the Costume Institute’s annual fundraiser, The Party of the Year, which is now known at The Costume Institute Gala.

As a whole, the collection—which is made up of press materials, correspondence, records, fashion ephemera and photographs—tells the incredible story of the rise of American fashion beginning in the 1940s and its evolution into the global powerhouse that it is today. Lambert, who has been called ‘The Empress of 7th Avenue,’ succeeded in putting American fashion on the map. Nearing the end of her days, Lambert seemed content with her life’s work noting, “I am proud that I helped bring American style to the world’s attention and it is now considered an independent entity in the history of fashion.”

Eleanor Lambert passed away at the age of 100 on October 7, 2003 in her Fifth Avenue home.

In 1924, American Vogue opined, “At the beginning of beauty lies the beautiful figure. For it is the single thing about a woman that comes nearest to dominating in the ensemble of her attractiveness.”

It may not be able to be said more plainly the import placed upon a sleek physique during the 1920s, as the figure considered ideal shifted away from the voluptuous curves favored during the Edwardian era towards a narrow-hipped, flat-chested look the French termed garçonne—the word for ‘boy’ given an ironic feminine twist. As the undergarments worn beneath gossamer fashions of the 1920s were intended to support the body rather than shape it (as the corset had for previous generations), women were increasingly encouraged by both health and fashion professionals to take steps to shape and tone their bodies through exercise. Articles on the benefits and practices of exercise appeared regularly in the pages of fashion magazines during the 1920s, as did feature articles on the practice of “reducing” via visits to “body culture salons.” There a client would be “given a thorough examination and questioned about her past ills until the specialist has a chart complete as one will find in a doctor’s index of patients. After the diagnosis, special exercises intended to correct faults of figure and carriage are prescribed for her individual case.”

A less clinical approach could be taken at the one—that’s right, one —fitness studio catering to women in Manhattan in 1925. Vogue introduced this concept of what is now essentially the modern-day gym to its readers by admitting that, “it may be a new suggestion to many who have not yet experienced the physical and mental satisfaction that comes from a sensible health course.” Women paid a membership fee and were allowed to come in as frequently as they wished to exercise at the “beautifully equipped” studio “with a sunny gymnasium, a handball court, and immaculate bath and massage rooms.”

It is here in the 1920s that we see the foundation of the women’s health and fitness industry as we know it today.

The publication La Culture Physique de la Femme Elégante is an exquisitely rare and beautiful testament to these early days of the widespread promotion of fitness for women. It was issued as a folio containing twelve pochoir plates on board depicting women in a variety of calisthenic poses. It’s French preface begins, “Who is the woman that does not wish to stay beautiful or become so?” and continues on to extol the benefits of exercise and recommend the services of one Dr. Mortat to any woman who wished to, “breathe better, have better deportment and, above all, not gain weight.” The illustrations are the work of Germaine-Paule Joumard, who was also the director of several pochoir fashion magazines of the era including Trés Parisien and Les Idées Nouvelles de la Mode.

A special thank you to Ursus Books, NYC for helping us obtain this title, which is held in the collections of only two other public institutions worldwide.

]]>https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2015/12/04/the-fit-flapper/feed/8380666Fashion Plates: 150 Years of Stylehttps://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2015/11/11/fashion-plates-150-years-of-style/
https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2015/11/11/fashion-plates-150-years-of-style/#respondWed, 11 Nov 2015 14:36:09 +0000http://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/?p=380646Continue reading →]]>Just released this week, Fashion Plates: 150 Years of Style, which features 200 fashion plates from our collection. Many of these beautiful images, which date between 1778-1928, have not been reproduced since their original date of publication.

Thank you to Yale University Press for their unerring support of this project which is currently available as a slipcased, luxury edition.

]]>https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2015/11/11/fashion-plates-150-years-of-style/feed/0380646From Russia with Love: Fira Benensonhttps://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2015/11/05/from-russia-with-love-fira-benenson/
https://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/2015/11/05/from-russia-with-love-fira-benenson/#commentsThu, 05 Nov 2015 22:55:47 +0000http://blog.fitnyc.edu/materialmode/?p=380621Continue reading →]]>While sorting though a recent donation, a small collection of exquisitely detailed sketches by one Fira Benenson came to perk my curiosity. Her name was unfamiliar to me, and as someone who spends a great deal of time immersed in fashion history ephemera, I know that often this means a fascinating discovery is at-hand.

I was not wrong.

Pouring through both the Women’s Wear Daily and New York Times historical databases, I was delighted to learn that Benenson was one of the America’s leading tastemakers from the late 1920s into the 1960s. She was born in Baku, Russia in 1898 into an affluent family. Her father, Grigori, made his fortune in the oil industry and after founding banks in both St. Petersburg and London, he became banker to the last tsar of Russia, Nicholas II. The Benenson family fled to London during the Bolshevik revolution of 1917/1918, landing in London for a period of about three years before immigrating to New York City in 1921. There her father—who was characterized by press at the time as an “international capitalist”—put down roots as controlling partner/president of the New York Dock Company as well as owner of several large downtown office buildings.

As a young twenty-something who had grown up attending Paris couture shows several times a year with her mother, the New York fashion market seemed a natural fit for Fira, who opened a dress shop on Madison Avenue as both a source of personal income and also to provide work for fellow Russian émigrés. As the head of Verben, Fira traveled to and from Paris selecting couture models from top designers including Vionnet, Chanel, Paquin, Molyneux and Augustabernard, which were then retailed through her store. She developed a reputation for her impeccable taste, favoring elegant lines and restraint over the exuberant embellishment which found favor with many other American buyers.

In 1934, she was tapped by Bonwit Teller to head their Salon de Couture. Adored by her staff—although reputed to be ruthlessly frank with clients—”Miss B” took nearly the entire staff of Verben with her to Bonwit Teller, from seamstresses to sales staff. Her operations at the department store functioned much as they had previously; she served as directrice, traveling to Paris at least four times a year to select the couture models which were offered in her Salon at Bonwit. The backing of one of the top American department stores now meant she enjoyed elite status in terms of bargaining power. She took advantage of this by negotiating exclusive imports, meaning that any couture look sold in her Salon could only be had at Bonwit Teller; it would not be licensed to other department stores or high-end dress shops. This fact, paired with supreme customer service (not only did Fira buy models with specific clients in mind, clients would arrive to appointments to find all necessities to complete the outfit—lingerie, hats, gloves, shoes and the like—already pulled from other sections of the store) made a her powerful figure in the fashion industry, both in America and abroad. The fashion press sought out her opinion on matters of la mode so frequently that it is confounding that she has largely been forgotten today.

The spotlight would shine brighter and brighter on Fira beginning in 1939. With war in Europe looming on the horizon, Benenson quietly assumed a new mantle: fashion designer. Until this point, she had been a stylist and buyer, but not the creator of original fashions. Critics lauded her very first collection: “Everyone had counted on her good taste and knowledge of fine workmanship to produce an adequate collection of clothes. But no one took for granted what did happen: that Fira Benenson should produce original clothes as well as any top-flight Paris designer!” Inspiration from her Eastern European roots seeped into the collection by way of Russian-inspired embroidery and skirt silhouettes based on traditional Polish aprons. The sketches in our collection, which all date to 1940, build a case that she also turned to museums for inspiration. The sketch at left below bears a hand-written notation on the back “Bonwit Teller/Designed by Fira Benenson/Goya Spanish jacket” while the one at far right is labeled “adapted from museum source.” This museum source may very well be the collection of the Museum of Costume Art, which was founded in 1937 as a resource for costume, fashion and textile designers to study garments and textiles of the past. In 1946, the Museum of Costume Art merged with The Metropolitan Museum of Art to become The Costume Institute, which was once home to this selection of sketches.

That Benenson’s signature style emerged to be one of restrained elegance was likely no surprise to her former clients, but perhaps the delicacy of her touch was; she quickly became known for exceptionally fine details—painstaking shirring, impossibly tiny tucks and gossamer lace-covered evening gowns. She gravitated toward svelte silhouettes and a willowy look she created by dropping waistlines 1 1/2″ from the norm. Two examples of the “picture necklines” which were part of her design lexicon for many years can be seen above at center and right.

In 1947, Benenson decided to venture out on her own, leaving Bonwit Teller in 1948 after developing a private wholesale line on the side. Her first venture into ready-to-wear was said to have a “made-to-order feeling” and to be practically “indistinguishable from her couture collections, except that it is made in sizes.” Prices began at $110 in currency of the day, which is just over $1,000 adjusted for inflation today, and for a time her ready-to-wear designs were offered exclusively Lord & Taylor. Many of these pieces were designed with women 40 and over in mind, as Fira herself was approaching 50.

A truly dynamic woman of her era, Benenson spoke seven languages fluently and her interests included world politics and throwing dinner parties with her husband, the Polish nobleman Count Janusz Ilinski.

Three tennis looks, created by an unidentified French designer in 1926, the year women’s professional tennis was established.

Material Mode has a quibble.

After attending the exhibition The Rise of Sneaker Culture yesterday at the Brooklyn Museum, we left feeling that some of the exhibition labels that dealt with women’s participation in sports during the Teens and Twenties lacked some requisite nuance when speaking of sportswomen of the era. We had a hard pause when one of the labels proclaimed that before the Twenties women were not “allowed” to engage in athletic activities. Certainly, increasing numbers of women participated in sports in the Twenties —physical exercise was even glamorized in the pages of mainstream fashion magazines. An interesting counter to the exhibition’s assertion that women were not playing sports prior to this time would be the myriad of primary sources in our collection that detail various forms of specialized sportswear for women which predate the Twenties, such as this archery dress dating to 1833.

The fact of the matter is that by the Twenties, the demand for fashionable sportswear for women was so great it had been officially integrated into the offerings of haute couture houses; Jeanne Lanvin launched a dedicated Sports division in 1923 and Jean Patou had already established the reputation of his house partially based on the “real sports costumes designed with practical hard service in mind,” which were worn and adored by celebrity sports stars of the day, such as the French tennis sensation Suzanne Lenglen.

Suzanne Lenglen in 1921 wearing a Patou tennis dress.

A media darling, Lenglen was renowned as much for her wardrobe as for her theatrical antics on and off court. Commonly covered in the fashion press and considered a measure of French chic, Lenglen’s on-court ensembles challenged traditional tennis attire by way of shorter skirts and bare shoulders. Even the tennis star’s undergarments were scrutinized by Women’s Wear Daily in 1926 when they published descriptions of the narrow, one-piece step-in foundation garment she wore while playing. Vanguard in many ways, including being the first female tennis player to turn professional, Lenglen was also an early participant in sports celebrity endorsement deals. More than half a century before the Air Jordans prominently showcased in the Sneaker Culture exhibition, Lenglen had entered into licensing deals with American manufacturers which allowed them to adapt and reproduce items in her personal wardrobe, which were then sold under the Suzanne Lenglen signature label. Many of these garments were adaptations or reproductions of couture sportswear ensembles created specifically for Lenglen by the likes of Patou and other French houses, this culture of American manufacturers copying French designers being a common industry practice at this time.